


Let You In

by MikeWritesThings



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Flirting, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28513692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikeWritesThings/pseuds/MikeWritesThings
Summary: Loba has high expectations and even higher walls. Anita's built up her own, but perhaps they can help each other tear them down.
Relationships: Loba Andrade/Bangalore | Anita Williams
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	Let You In

**Author's Note:**

> this is my secret santa gift !!! one of the prompts was small intimate momets showing how close they've gotten. im sorry its do late ive been packing up and moving ;___; this still feels somewhat incomplete, more of a series of ideas rather than a complete fic, so i might come back to it and add another chapter at some point in the future. happy holidays !!!

“I hope you know I’ve never once been satisfied,” Loba said at the end of their first official date. _Official_ because it was the first time Anita had called it what it was. A _date_ —not just _girl’s night_ (said with sarcasm) or bar-hopping. She'd said the words _date,_ Loba bad agreed to a _date,_ and therefore that's what it was.

A date.

God, she was getting too old for this shit.

They were just leaving the restaurant; it was nothing fancy, real cozy place with great home-cooking that was both delicious and affordable. Chicken. Baked potatoes. Anita had thought that maybe Loba would like it.

Evidently, she’d been wrong, if _that’s_ the way she was ending their date.

“Oh yeah?” Anita asked, arching an eyebrow. Something of a challenge. Not too offended, to be honest. Maybe Loba thought herself above cozy dates. Maybe she wanted something more high-caliber. “Why is that?”

“Subpar company.” Loba began to put on her jacket, which had been hanging over her arm until now as they walked slowly down the sidewalk. “People talking about nothing, doing their best to impress me with empty words and emptier gestures. It’s all so...pointless. Everyone has been so dispensable.”

“Well, sorry if this date wasn’t exactly what you expected, princess.”

“You didn’t let me finish speaking, Sergeant,” Loba teased, walking ahead of her before turning sharply on her heel to come nose-to-nose with Anita. She was wearing those six-inch heels again, so their eyes were locked, Loba’s gold-flecked brown intense and unwavering. “May I?”

Anita bit back a smirk, hands placed in her pockets. Interested to see where this was going. “Alright. Continue."

“I’ll cut to the chase since you’re so impatient; you’re invaluable to me, Anita Williams.”

“You could’ve just said you liked the date.”

“I like to keep people on their toes.”

"Color me shocked."

Loba looked down at her wrist, lips pursing a little. “I do have somewhere to be, _amada,_ so if you have anything to ask, I suggest you do it now.”

Anita would admit that she panicked momentarily. She felt like Loba was testing her, that by not asking Loba out again immediately she would disappoint her or miss her chance—so Anita offered,

“I’ve got tickets to some thing next week. You and me?”

“Of course,” Loba replied immediately, smiling—something real and genuine, right until it wasn’t anymore. Faded into that thing that was more artificial, coy, like the smile from before had been too personal for anyone to see. Even Anita. “See you in the Ring, Sergeant.”

And just like that, she was gone. Anita couldn’t believe that the date had gone so well. It’d been a gamble, honestly, taking Loba out with her high expectations and even higher walls, but she hadn’t let it get to her, knowing that they did this often enough as it was, just...with a different label slapped on top of it _. Girl’s night._

But right now she had a bigger problem. Picking up her phone, she dialed the last person she would want to talk to at eleven P.M.

“Silva, you know this city inside and out. Is there anything good going on next week?”

* * *

There wasn’t a name for what was going on between her and Loba. Or rather, there were a lot, and she could never think of the right one when asked. Some were sappier than the others. White picket fence, apple pie life kind of names. Girlfriends. Lovers. Shit like that.

Girlfriends was too lovey-dovey, but on the flipside, teammates was too impersonal. So after some deliberation she’d settled on ‘ _partners_ ’. A good balance between the two, intimate, intertwined, linked without being juvenile or something else that she wasn’t. Simple. Anita wanted something clean and simple, and the word ‘ _girlfriend_ ’ opened up a lot of complicated doorways she didn’t want to think about right now.

 _Partners_ was good. All-encompassing. Represented everything that they were and then some without getting sentimental about it.

 _Partners_ is what she would use to describe them when they were in the Ring, down to the last seven squads while Anita reloaded her G7 one-handed. Loba peeking through the bars of a window, P2020 at the ready. Getting shot at. Having Loba set up that magic stick of hers, having a phoenix kit dumped into her lap with a smooth “don’t die on me, dear”.

 _Partners_ is what she would use to describe each other in the dead of the night, when one or the both of them was afflicted by nightmares. Stories of Anita’s brothers and Loba’s parents got them through it into the early dregs of the morning, when Anita would lay back in bed with a sigh while Loba wrapped a robe around herself and went to get a drink. Usually alcoholic. _Harmony 2700 wine_. Girl had good taste.

If she could tell her parents about the two of them, she’d call them partners. They’d understand her. They’d always gotten her when nobody else would.

They were a tight family. No-nonsense and not very cuddly, but tight all the same.

She missed them.

“You’re going to get wrinkles frowning like that,” Loba told her one afternoon, as she was cleaning out her room on the dropship to get rid of all the unnecessary things that had accumulated over time. Weapons magazine. Sudoku book she’d thrown at the wall once after getting angry with it. Fidget toy she’d confiscated from Silva after he’d woken her up from her sleep. One of Parekh’s scrunchies, for some reason.

“I already have wrinkles," Anita mumbled absentmindedly, not quite paying attention. "Few more won’t hurt.”

“This was my way of asking _why_ you’re frowning.”

Anita had been staring at an old, faded photograph of her and Jackie. There was a stain on it circling Jackie’s face from the number of times she’d placed a beer bottle on top of it so she wouldn’t have to look at his face. So she wouldn’t have to fight back the immense guilt and aftershocks of what had happened.

Jackie would've known what she'd meant by _partners,_ too.

She dropped the photograph back into her shoebox and kicked it under her bed. “Don’t matter.”

Loba approached her, heels clicking on the floor before she was standing beside her, their shoulders brushing. Her eyes flickered down to where the shoebox had disappeared, and Anita thought for a second that she was going to ask her about it, stick her nose in her business—but Loba just asked,

“Do you want any help?”

Anita let out a low sigh, running her nails lightly over the shaved part of her head. She’d cleared most of the useless stuff away, so she didn’t need a helping hand, but she didn’t want Loba to think she was blowing her off. So she said,

“Nah, I’m through with this. Dinner?”

“You’re insatiable. We just had lunch.”

“Three hours ago.”

“It’s five o’clock.”

“That a no on dinner, then?”

Loba hit the wolfhead of her staff lightly against Anita’s arm. “My place at six. Be on time or I won’t let you in.”

She turned on her heel and clacked away without another word, Anita staring at her back, which earned her a whistle from Witt that had her throwing her arm around his neck and putting him into a headlock.

* * *

Loba’s place was immaculate. Everything had an order to it, shiny and refined and put on display for the whole wide world to see—Loba’s specific combined world of criminal elites and bloodsports competitors. Maybe the elites would appreciate all the gold and sapphires, but Anita nearly knocked over a priceless vase by accident, so she wasn’t as eager to be here. The thing was probably stolen, though, so it wouldn’t be a loss on Loba’s part. 

When she arrived Loba looked less than perfect, which was surprising. And by less than perfect Anita meant that her makeup was running from sweat, her hair was falling from its braids and there were stains on the front of the apron she was wearing.

"Hello, gorgeous?" Anita said, more of a question than an actual greeting, and Loba seemed to understand why immediately.

“I clearly have no talent for cooking,” the younger woman said, smooth and suave as always despite her harried appearance. “But you can't say I didn't try. Order-in?”

Anita lifted the cover off a pot to see what she had tried making. She was greeted with what might’ve been spaghetti, but for some reason Loba had decided to cook the noodles with the sauce at the same time. Grade-A disaster.

“No, I can cook,” Anita offered, before opening up her pantry. “What have you g—”

The thing was barren except for some cereal bars.

“I’m afraid I don’t have time for groceries,” Loba said coolly when Anita had stared at the empty shelves for too long.

“...Order-in sounds good.”

They got Mexican, because it was one of Loba’s guilty pleasures, or something. Anita hadn’t known that. She’d thought the other woman was more of a steak and caviar lady, not mole enchiladas and charro beans. You learn something new every day.

“My favorite part is the chips at the restaurant,” Loba said as she paced back and forth in her pristine living room, not wearing heels, for once. Seeing her like that was almost like seeing her naked.

“That’s everybody’s favorite part,” Anita said from her spot on the couch. “My granddad used to make a mean salsa.”

Loba finished ordering before sitting beside her, crossing one leg over the other. She seemed to be thinking something over, nails tapping against the back of her phone, before she reached up to fiddle with one of her braids. She took the band off, started undoing some of it—but paused, before letting it fall back down. Like she’d changed her mind.

“What was that, back there?” Anita asked with a small smile, jerking her head towards the kitchen, which still smelled faintly of something burnt. “Anyone you trying to impress?”

“Impress? No. I just thought that I should do something nice for someone that is...” Loba looked down at her phone, nail scratching its surface lightly, before finishing, “Important to me.”

“Well, I appreciate the effort. A+ for trying.”

“Speaking of...people important to me,” Loba said, as if she hadn’t heard Anita. “There’s someone that I would like you to meet."

Anita arched an eyebrow, now wary. “Who?”

“Jaime. My partner.”

Anita frowned at those words, leaning forward in her seat to get a better look at Loba. “ _Partner_?”

“Friend. Closest friend.” Loba glanced towards her, something in her eyes Anita couldn’t begin to decipher. “He’s been by my side for many years.”

“No offense, but _why_ do you want me to meet him?”

“Because he’s important to me.”

“...Right. Uh, sure." Anita took a deep breath, glancing around and looking for signs of anyone else in the apartment. " _Now?_ ”

“Not now, but _yes_ , eventually. I just wanted you to know that I want you two to meet.”

Anita nodded, but she wasn’t sure that she understood where this was all coming from, and what it meant.

"You know I'm not one for meet-and-greets, though."

Loba shot her a sour expression at those words. Anita placed her hand on Loba’s back apologetically, tried to think of a new way to ignite conversation, when Loba sighed and let her head drop a little, clearly frustrated.

“For the love of...I’m trying to open _up_ to you, Sergeant. I’m trying to let you in.”

“Oh,” Anita said, and then cursed herself for not being able to say anything more intelligent than that. So _that_ was what this whole thing was? Loba trying to open up to her?

Anita had thought she was doing that already. Slowly, bit-by-bit, with every nightmare Loba had or every little secret she was let in on—like the fact that Loba sometimes snorted when she laughed, and wore a retainer when she slept, and covered her mouth and nose with her hand when spraying perfume on because she had violent coughing fits otherwise.

Loba was already opening up to her, letting her in. Small steps, but that was fine with Anita.

Maybe the other woman just hadn’t realized it yet.

“Don’t try to rush it,” Anita found herself saying, and Loba sighed quietly, still not facing her. “You’re letting me in just fine.”

"...Am I?"

"Better than I am," Anita admitted, and Loba smiled a little at that.

“I’m just...afraid,” she said, voice steady. Quiet. “I thought if I just got it over with, ripped it off like a band-aid...”

“If burning pasta is how you let me in, I really think you should slow down,” Anita said with a light laugh, and Loba shot her yet another glare. “No, girl, it's fine. You're a hell of a lot better than you were last year.”

Loba smiled at that, the barest tug at the corner of her mouth, before she was getting to her feet and wandering off in the direction of her bedroom, muttering something about washing off her face. Anita watched her go, wondering if she had said the right thing. She didn’t have too much experience with this sort of thing, to be honest. Being career-oriented in a military family left little time for relationships. 

When the food came they spread it out on Loba’s spotless coffee table, and Anita was afraid to get even one drop of guac on it, but Loba just laughed when she accidentally knocked over her little cup of tortilla soup. Maybe she'd done just fine after all.

* * *

Anita’s guitar was in bad shape. Stickers peeling off the case, colorful graphics from every planet her family had taken a tour on. Strings rough and ragged. Paint scratched. Wouldn’t sound good if she played.

Anita’s throat hurt from yelling all the time. Commanding her squads, calling the shots. There was often a husky quality to it these days, so she couldn’t sing anymore. Didn’t wanna lose her voice.

Anita’s hands hurt, fingers blistered and knuckles cracked. Sore from constantly crooking her finger over the trigger of a gun. No way she could strum a few strings with the state they were in.

She used these excuses and a million more whenever someone asked her to sing. She knew she never should’ve done interviewed with that uppity gossip lady, because ever since it got out she could play guitar everyone and their mama wanted her to do it for them. It was exhausting. Annoying.

So why the hell was she currently pulling the damned thing out from her closet after Loba had batted her eyelashes and said _‘pretty please’_?

“I don’t normally do this with an audience,” Anita said gruffly as she sat on the edge of her bed, which was technically the truth. Yeah, she'd played in front of other people before, but her own family didn’t count.

“Do you get stage fright, dear? Just do what they say in movies. Imagine me naked,” Loba purred, and Anita let out a huff that disguised a laugh. “You don’t have to blow me away. Just...satisfy me.”

“Tall order, comin’ from you.”

“I think you’ll find there’s many things you already exceed my expectations with.”

“Right.” Anita made some adjustments to her guitar, before clearing her throat, giving it a test strum. “ _Mama told me..._ ”

A little off. Adjusting it again, she tried not to make eye contact with the other woman sitting across from her, who was leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, watching her with those intense gold-flecked eyes. Studying her.

She suddenly felt hot beneath her collar.

“ _Mama told me..._ ”

Crack in her voice. _Get it together, Williams._

Anita took a deep breath, still trying not to look at Loba. Not wanting her to think she was scared or nervous or anything, because she wasn’t. She was just...

Rusty. That was all.

“ _Mama told me_ ,” Anita began for the third time, and she was satisfied enough with her start that she kept going. “ _When I was young..._ ”

The words and notes came naturally to her, memories of her practicing this song alone in her room while Jackie provided the beat with that stupid tambourine of his. She found herself zoning out as she played, mind preoccupied with the last time she’d sang this...a few months before she and her brother got onto that ship...her mama clapping and her dad nodding with approval, glad his old guitar was getting put to good use...

Playing in front of Loba, she didn't mind as much as she thought it would. Felt comfortable playing in front of her, felt comfortable...letting her see her like this Whatever _this_ was.

Until she played the wrong note, and her voice broke, trailing off partway through the song. She let out the tiniest exhale through grit teeth, moved her wrist to strum the thing again, when Loba reached out and touched her arm, putting a stop to her movements. Anita looked up at her, meeting her eyes, and they were both quiet for a long moment.

“I enjoyed that,” Loba said, and Anita tried to fight back her smile, averting her gaze to the strings again.

“Bet you would enjoy it more if I could get through the whole song.”

“I’m sure I would,” Loba replied gently. “But I think you’ve done enough for me, tonight.”

Anita glanced up again, trying to figure out what to say. What she meant. How she was supposed to respond. But Loba just kissed her on the cheek, leaving behind the slightly sticky feeling of a lipstick smudge there. 

“Dinner?” Loba asked, and Anita set her guitar aside, something inside her feeling a little too warm. 

“Sure,” she answered. “Let me cook for you. Got my grandma’s red velvet cake recipe memorized."

"I don't believe I've ever had red velvet."

"You're in for a treat, princess," Anita said, and Loba laugh. That genuine laugh, with a little snort at the end. That laugh that Anita was one of the few people allowed to hear.

"Show me a good time, Sergeant."

**Author's Note:**

> laying face down. i love lobalore. Would Love To Be Able To Write Them Well One Day


End file.
